Of a Mind
by spellcoats
Summary: Just what exactly DID Jon do to get the Lord Provost to sign George's pardon? SotL, LR Gen Oneshot


_George picked up the pardon, re-reading it. He tapped a large seal in silvery wax. "How in Mithros's name did you get my Lord Provost to sign?"_

"You'd be surprised. He's an amazing fellow." Jonathan's tone was filled with wry respect, making Alanna wonder just what the Provost had done to put that feeling in his voice.  


**Disclaimer: **All characters, settings, and the like belong to Tamora Pierce.

* * *

A knock on the door draws Jonathan's attention away from the fishery reports on his desk. Standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind his velvet tunic, is the Lord Provost. He has been Lord Provost since before Jonathan's birth, but he is every bit as hale and fit as Duke Gareth the Elder. For all that he is common-born, he dresses and holds himself with all the finesse of the nobility. His face, too, is carefully blank, with only a slight questioning lift of the eyebrow.

"My Lord Provost," Jonathan says, grateful to put aside the lists of cod and sea trout brought in last month, and waves a hand at the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit."

The Provost crosses the room and lowers himself into the chair with a grimace. "I must confess, sire, that my age creeps up on me. My legs are glad to see me seated."

Jonathan smiles. "With all that you are on your feet all day, sir, I do not doubt it."

"Oh, aye, Majesty," the Provost agrees. "That cur Ralon of Malven, him they call the Claw, has me runnin' up, down and sideways. 'Tis admittedly easier to deal with rogues when they are organized even under a clever, firm leader, not fightin' a civil war on our very streets."

"As it happens," Jonathan says, drawing from a drawer a sheaf of parchment, "the reason I summoned you here has to do with the very problem you speak of."

"Aye, sire?"

"Aye," Jonathan agrees, echoing the man's common speech. "I wish to pardon a man of crimes against the Crown."

"The nature of these crimes being what, sire?" the Provost asks, his face once more severely neutral.

Jonathan knows George's record like he knows his way around a sword. "Extortion," he recites. "Bribery. Theft. Murder. Assault. Tax evasion. Need I go on?"

The other man's eyebrows have lifted high onto his forehead. "These are high crimes, sire," the Provost says. "It sounds to me like this scourge need be brought to justice."

"I would normally oblige you," Jonathan agrees. "However, in this case, I must differ. I will say it plainly for you, so we may stop dancing around the subject: I wish to secure your signature in the acquittal of George Cooper, King of the Rogue, of all crimes. Further, I intend to bestow him rank and privilege and put his unique talents to use on the right side of the law."

"I see," the Provost muses. "And if I should say no, Your Majesty?"

"I will not begrudge you your judgment. However, should you not agree, I am fully prepared to go through alternative channels, even though they will take considerably more time."

Jonathan is surprised to see the Provost's yellowing teeth flash against his tan, weathered face in what is unmistakably a grin. "You are sentimental, aren't you, sire?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jonathan asks with no small amount of confusion.

"Your Majesty doesn't have much faith in you and yours, if you'll forgive me for sayin' so. Very little gets past me in Corus, even in the Lower City--especially in the Lower City. I am not so blind that I didn't notice your friendship with the Rogue." He rubs his chin, thoughtful. "I do agree that George Cooper would be better in service of the realm than dancin' in the hangman's noose."

The thought of George, hanging, makes Jonathan blanch visibly. The Provost pretends not to see this, and continues. "I saw him when you rode through the city, during the Great Market Riot. He's a handy, vicious fighter, and he's dead loyal to you. Rogues couldn't give two coppers about the Crown, but Cooper prizes individuals for _who _they are, not what. If I may ask, sire, just what work did you have in mind for him?"

"Spymaster," Jonathan replies. "The system needs reworking, and George is the man to do it."

"Aye, if anyone can do it, Cooper can. I am glad for this. I am fond of the lad, in my way, and I should be more than happy not to have to sign a death warrant."

"It seems we are of a mind, sir," Jonathan says with a smile as he hands writ, pen and inkwell across the desk.


End file.
